


Flying Lorises

by cas_tielle



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deception, F/M, Fluff, Internet Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 18:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3144566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cas_tielle/pseuds/cas_tielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>❝Welcome to flyinglorises.com. Please fill out your profile with your basic personal information.</p><p>Name: Dylan Sharp</p><p>Gender: Male<br/>Lives in: Glasgow, Scotland</p><p>Name: Aleksandar Ferdinand<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Lives in: Vienna, Austria</p><p>Common interests?</p><p>Favorite color?<br/>Dylan: green<br/>Alek: blue</p><p>Hobbies?<br/>Dylan: climbing, laser tag<br/>Alek: fencing, reading</p><p>Favorite band?<br/>Dylan: Flying Lorises<br/>Alek: Flying Lorises</p><p>Bingo.❞</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part i

The sky stretches out for kilometers below the tiny plane, the land seeming so far away. Inside the jet, a seventeen year old boy with reddish-brown hair and striking green eyes is sipping a can of pop. He sits in a plush, leather seat that is far comfier than a seat on any commercial flight, staring at space. He isn’t just staring, though, he’s thinking. 

He is on his way to meet his friend, Dylan, in person. They’ve never done anymore than email and chat over Gmail, and he’s eager to see his friend for the first time. Having met on a Flying Lorises fanpage, he thought it had been appropriate to invite him to their concert. And it was in Germany, so they would meet halfway.

“Are you hungry, Aleksandar?” Mr. Volger’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. “I could have Mr. Klopp bring you some _hors d’œuvres?_ ”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’m just thinking.” The can clinks as Alek sets it back down. 

Mr. Volger is a grim man, who doesn’t waste time on pleasantries and small talk. Alek has always known him to be blunt, cutting straight to the point. He is also one of the two people Alek talks to. Having a presidential status is sometimes so very lonely.

Dylan is his internet friend, and his only real friend, which Alek supposes is kind of pathetic. Still, he can’t wait to see what he is like in real life. Vastly different, he’s guessing.

“Where are we to meet this _Dylan_?” asks Mr. Volger. He says his friend’s name with suspicion and a tinge of distaste, which Alek chooses to ignore.

“Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof Train Station. Ticket booth.”

“Perhaps,” says Mr. Volger cautiously, “it is not wise to meet some you have never met.”

Alek looks up sharply. He has no qualms about his friend’s identity, he couldn’t be a murderer or a stalker or a forty year old man. He isn’t.

“Mr. Volger, I have no doubt that Dylan Sharp is exactly who he says he is.”


	2. part ii

“Yes, Mum, I’ve arrived.” Deryn sighs into her phone. She adjusts it, clamping it between her shoulder and her ear so her hands are free to carry her suitcase down the train’s steps. “The train’s just pulled into the station.” She checks her watch. “Alek should be here any minute now.”

Deryn can hear her mum fretting on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea now,” she says. “Deryn, this can’t be safe. What was I thinking? You’re only sixteen!”

“I _am_ sixteen. I’m old enough to be independent,” she reminds her mother. Dragging her suitcase behind her, Deryn weaves her way through the crowd, muttering apologies. Alek had said to meet him at the ticket booth at the end of the station.

“You have no idea who this boy is,” her mother chides. “He could be forty!” 

“He’s not forty, Mum.” Deryn rolls her eyes, but her mother only means well for her. “I’ll keep talking to you until I see him, okay?”

She pulls the brim of her hat down, just over her eyes. The ticket booth is approaching, and the only person she sees is tall, grey-haired  and with facial hair to match. With a sinking heart, Deryn is suddenly worried, for the first time, that her mother was right.

Then a shorter boy steps out from behind him, and she lets out a breath of relief. “It’s alright, Mum,” Deryn says into the mouthpiece. “I see him.”

“Great. Call me back later, okay? I love you.”

“Sure. Love you, too,” she says, distractedly, and snaps the phone shut. She drops it in her pocket.

The closer Deryn gets, the more nervous she gets. She’s never seen Alek properly – they hadn’t really exchanged photos of themselves over email. She only knows him by his vague profile picture, that really hasn’t helped her envision him.

And he’s never seen her, either. She’d done it on purpose, thinking she’d never _actually_ meet him in real life. How was she supposed to have known he would invite her to a Flying Lorises concert?

Deryn had spent an agonizingly embarrassing amount of time trying on different outfits in front of the mirror this morning, before finally throwing on a simple t-shirt and cargo pants. She has never cared so much about how she looks before, and she feels strangely nervous all of a sudden, then berates herself for thinking it’s strange. 

Of course she’s nervous; only someone as stupid as herself could go and fall for a boy _over the internet_. 

She finally stops in front of the two men, heart pounding. “Hi,” says Deryn. “Are you Alek?”

The boy’s eyes – _they were so green_ – light up. “You’re Dylan?” he asks. His English is flawless, but she can detect his Austrian accent in his words.

“Aye,” she says, taking off her hat. “It’s Deryn, actually.”


	3. part iii

“S-Sorry?” Alek stutters. He’s staring at this _girl_ across from him, claiming to be his friend, Dylan. No, wait; _Deryn._

Her hair, blonde and short, is cropped just below her ears, and she’s looking at him with vigilant blue eyes. From faraway, she could pass as a boy. Nothing about her appearance seems girly – loose, baggy trousers and a man’s army jacket – not a splotch of pink in sight. Everything about her is familiar, masculine; except if Alek looks her in the eye. Her face is too pretty to be mistaken for a boy.

“Er, sorry,” she says. Even her voice seems boyish, not high-pitched and annoying like the girls that his father likes to set him up with. “Did I forget to mention – ?”

“That you’re a _girl?_ ” Alek finishes. “Yeah, maybe you forgot to mention that _tiny_ detail!”

“I didn’t really think it was important.”

“It’s extremely important, Dyl – Deryn.” Her name is foreign on his lips. 

“Alek, I’m sorry I lied to you,” she apologizes, and she sounds so earnest he wants to forgive her. “But we met on the internet; everyone lies about who they are on the internet!”

Alek shakes his head. He needs time to process this, needs to stop staring at this girl, and most of all, he needs his friend, _Dylan_ , to make him feel better because his head hurts.

But Dylan doesn’t exist, he has to remind himself. No, he never existed. Just this girl, Deryn.

“Aleksandar, the car is waiting outside,” Mr. Volger reminds him, tapping his shoulder and wearing a patronizing expression that screams _I told you so_. Alek considers asking him what to do; the man has always been sound in advice. But seeing his pointed look, he decides that now is not the time to ask, especially with _her_ standing only a few paces away.

“Am I still invited?” she asks somewhat meekly. He gets the feeling she isn’t usually meek. Dylan isn’t.

 _She is Dylan_.

He nods, still frowning. He waves her forward sarcastically. “Ladies first.”

Deryn scowls at him. “Get stuffed.”


	4. part iv

While Mr. Volger opens the car door and Alek slides into his seat casually, Deryn gapes openly at the sleek, black limousine that waits outside the station. This is Alek’s? She can’t believe it.

Alek looks at her expectantly. “What are you waiting for?” he says. “Are you going to get in, or are you just going to stand there all day?”  

“Barking spiders, Alek!” Deryn says when she recovers. She jumps into the car and slams the door. “You have a _limo_?”

“Of course,” answers the man at the wheel. “What else would you have the son of the Austrian president travel in?” He tips his hat heartily. “My name is Otto Klopp. At your service.”

Deryn looks to her friend, and now it’s his turn to look away. Evidently, she’s not the only one who’s kept secrets.

“You’re the son of the bloody _president?_ ” Deryn whispers loudly. “Are you _serious?_ ”

Alek turns to the window stiffly. “Yes,” he says. 

“And you didn’t _tell_ me?” Alek had said wealthy; not filthy rich.

“Well, excuse me, _Miss Sharp!_ ” he explodes, and Mr. Volger shoots them a glance from the front seat. “I can’t exactly go around, flaunting my title, anyway. I’m a target; we’ve got to be careful.”

Deryn snorts. That’s a load of bull. Alright, maybe not. But she still would have liked to know.

‘Course, she’s not really one to talk.

They sit in silence in the drive to the hotel. When they get there, Deryn’s gasping like a fish. Again.

“Is this a five-star hotel?” she says, flabbergasted. “I’ve never even _seen_ one in person.”

Alek snorts derisively, and Deryn glares at him. 

“Not all of us are _sons of Austrian presidents_ ,” she snarls, and stalks off, suitcase rolling behind her.

Mr. Volger checks in at the front desk. “We are registered under the name ‘Ferdinand’,” he tells the woman. After some tapping at the keyboard, she looks up from the computer.

“Ah, yes. Two rooms, 344 and 345.” 

The older man frowns. “No, I believe that’s a mistake. We’ll be needing three rooms.” He gestures to himself, Alek, Klopp, and Deryn. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” says the lady, “I’m afraid we have no other free rooms, and it says here that you booked only two.” Deryn can see where this is going. “This is all we have.” 

The woman holds out two keys.

They are forced to accept them. The rooms are right next to each other, with two single beds in each. 

To Deryn’s displeasure, she finds herself bunking with Alek, and as much as she doesn’t like it, she’d rather bunk with him than Mr. Volger or Mr. Klopp. Deryn shudders.

“You are both teenagers,” Mr. Volger begins, “So I expect that a boy and a girl sharing a room won’t – ”

“Trust me,” Deryn snaps, grabbing Alek’s arm and pulling him into the room and _away from this man and this talk_. “We won’t be doing anything.”


	5. part v

His things are spread out over three suitcases, and Alek sets them up on his side of the room. He’s got enough clothes that would last him three weeks instead of one, and they are obviously all made with high quality material. Pricey things.

Alek can see Deryn eying his suitcases out of the his peripheral vision, and he notices that she only has one small carry-on.

“Is that all you’ve brought?” he asks, and regrets it when she glares at him. “Right, not a president’s kid,” he amends.

They unpack in silence. When he’s finished, Deryn has already gotten changed and is ready to go to bed. Her nightie is an oversized t-shirt, stretching down to her knees. Alek doesn’t think she’s got anything on underneath.

“Stop staring.” Deryn scowls. “I thought I would be sleeping alone, alright?” 

Alek’s face turns red at having been caught looking where he shouldn’t have, and heads off to clean up. There, in the safety of the bathroom, Alek can breathe freely again. 

Turning on the faucet, he lets the cool water rush over his hands, cupping it and splashing his face. He scrubs harder than he needs to. When he’s done, he leans his hands on the counter, letting the droplets drip off his chin and down his shirt. 

He stares into the mirror, and another Alek stares back. 

 _So what if Dylan’s actually a girl?_ the other Alek seems to say. _She’s the same person on the inside._

Not on the outside, she’s not. Her t-shirt is oversized, but it doesn’t hide much. 

_Dylan is Deryn. Deryn is Dylan._

Stop.

With the bathroom towel, he dries his face. 

Deryn is in her bed as he enters the room; well, she’s almost there. She’s fiddling with the sheets. When she turns around, Alek sees that she’s wearing a goofy grin that he hasn’t seen before. 

“Look at these blankets!” she exclaims. “Have you ever felt anything more comfortable?” With a contented sigh, she throws herself onto the bed, letting the down comforter cushion her. Then she fixes him with a look, like she’s just remembered. “Oh, wait. You live like this everyday,” she says, sounding like she’s expecting him to burst her bubble. 

Alek won’t, though. He only realizes that he’s smiling when Deryn asks him what’s wrong with his face.

“Nothing,” says Alek, still smiling. Then he throws himself on the mattress the same way she just did. He looks at her through the covers. “You’re right, though. These are the softest I’ve ever felt.”

“Aye,” she says, grinning again.


	6. part vi

Groaning, Deryn rolls over onto her stomach and buries her head in her pillow. She blinks blearily, and reluctantly peeks at her watch.

_Six forty-three._

She groans again and burrows deeper into the covers. Alek is still sleeping. Obviously, you can’t learn everything from a person online; take for example, whether or not he snores. She clamps the pillows over her ears and falls back asleep.

The next time Deryn opens her eyes, she’s being shaken awake.

“Wake up,” says Alek. He’s already dressed. “It’s already half past eight, I think you’ve slept enough.”

Deryn shuts her eyes again. “No, I haven’t,” she says, her voice muffled. “It’s all your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes. I hope you know that you snore like a rhinoceros.” The covers are pulled over her head.

She can’t see him, but his tone sounds indignant. “I do not.”

“Your princeliness snores like a herd of rhinoceroses.”

Alek mutters something under his breath and stomps off; she smiles with her eyes still closed. In the back of her mind, she knows she must get up. 

Deryn hears the door open, and Alek’s voice calling back, “We’re leaving in an hour.” The door slams.

After dragging herself to the bathroom and splashing cold water over her face, she’s woken up some. _Getting dressed is the next step_ , she reminds herself sarcastically. 

“Where _are_ my trousers?” says Deryn under her breath, flipping through her clothes.

Alek and Mr. Volger are downstairs eating in the lunchroom, when she’s found her clothes. They look like they are almost finished, and Alek glances up at her when she approaches the table. “You’ve got twenty minutes to eat,” he says.

“Where’s Mr. Klopp?” Deryn pulls up a chair, pleased that her plate has already been filled with breakfast foods.

“Early riser. He’s eaten already and he’s waiting in the limo,” answers Alek after swallowing a mouthful of muffin. Deryn’s mouth waters.

The pastries taste as good as they look, and she almost moans with gusto. She manages to swallow three or four of them before Alek and Mr. Volger are pushing back their chairs. Wiping her mouth quickly on the silky napkin, she scrambles after them.

 _Not even a word!_ she thinks, lips pursed. Alek is kind of a dick in real life. 

Outside, Mr. Klopp sits in the front seat of the vehicle, smiling at her when she walks out. “Good morning, Miss Deryn,” he says. 

“’Morning, Mr. Klopp.” She turns to Alek. “Where to?”

He shrugs, seeming hesitant. “I don’t know. Originally, we were going to go to a laser tag arena, but girls can’t really do that sort of thing, so – ”

His words are so close-minded and so _sexist_ she can hardly believe they come from the mouth of Alek, the one she has always counted on being open. Deryn doesn’t even think twice before her fist connects with his arm.

“Ow!” He’s rubbing his bruised skin and she feels a twinge of satisfaction. “What was that for?”

Leaning forward, Deryn turns to the chauffeur. “Mr. Klopp, please drive us to the laser tag arena,” she tells him, and turning back, she smirks at her friend.

“Alek,” says Deryn, “I’m going to show you how a girl is going to kick your arse.”


	7. part vii

Alek is feeling rather miffed at the moment. On top of being decidedly less _male_ than he thought his friend was, Deryn has also taken control of his driver. 

Mr. Klopp seems to think this whole situation is amusing, and Alek makes a mental note to talk to him about listening to the blonde girl later.

The arena draws near, and Deryn hops out as soon as the brakes squeal. The other three aren’t quite as enthusiastic.

Once in the building, Alek and Deryn are led away to retrieve their equipment, Mr. Volger respectfully declining their invitation to join them. 

The laser tag vests are bigger than Alek thought they would be, and his knees nearly buckle at the unexpected weight on his shoulders. He catches Deryn stifling a smile behind her hand.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” he defends himself.

Deryn pokes his nose patronizingly. “ _Sure_.”

The operator pulls the final strings on their vests and hands them their lasers. “Do you both know the rules?”

Deryn shakes her head, and Alek does the same.

“Alright. No climbing on the structures inside the arena, no running, no foul play and keep both hands on the laser to fire. To get your opponent out of the game, it’s easiest shoot straight at their chest, where their largest targets are located. There are also targets on their backs and shoulders. Ready?”

The arena is dark when they stumble in, except for all traces of white which glow luminescent in the black-light. Alek sees the white of Deryn’s teeth as she smiles…

…and shoots him in the chest.

The target flashes red and beeps loudly. Alek’s laser is temporarily deactivated. 

“Hey!”

She laughs and bounds away, ducking around the corner. “Two lives left, use them wisely, Alek!”

Alek’s determined to catch up with her now; and he’s got a lot of positive things on his side. 

He can be fast. He can be cunning. And most of all, he’s lucky that Deryn’s chosen to wear white.


	8. part viii

Chest heaving, laser in hand, Deryn peeks around the corner. There’s no Alek in sight, but she’s down to two lives, thanks to some random kid on a shooting spree.

She’s sure that he was right behind her. 

And there he is, running – no, jogging; running is forbidden – towards her with his laser raised. Deryn ducks just in time and Alek whizzes past, skidding on the slick floor.

She grins. Alek is going _down_.

Her laser is leveled at her eye, the blast just narrowly missing his shoulder pad and she curses loudly, earning a nasty glare from a nearby parent. “Sorry,” Deryn mutters.

“Setting a bad example for kids, Deryn!” Alek taunts. 

“Aye, only following your example!”

They charge at each other, firing periodically, and Deryn grins as his left shoulder pad flashes red. And then the floor is suddenly slippery, and her shoes can’t grip the tile properly, and she is desperately digging her heels down unsuccessfully.

Somehow, Deryn finds herself in a tangle of limbs, Alek’s legs flopping over hers and her right arm is pinned under his laser. His shoulder is smothering her.

Grumbling, Alek raises his head up but Deryn still can’t breathe, only this time it’s because his face is far too close to be friendly.

He is only defined by the whites of his eyes and his teeth; oh, and the glowing green of his irises.

In the back of her mind she remembers that she needs to breathe eventually. Deryn does, and, smiling shyly, brings her laser around and shoots him in the back.

The registered shock in Alek’s face as the target flashes red is enough to please Deryn. She flips him over, limbs still twisted, and his laser skitters away. It doesn’t matter, though, it’s useless anyway. The vest has powered down, his weapons deactivated.

“I win,” whispers Deryn gleefully. From under her, Alek glares accusingly. He is pinned down and he can’t move; Deryn is still taller, just by a little.

“You cheated,” he says.

“I did not, you daftie.” Deryn is delightfully innocent-looking. Before Alek can respond, Deryn feels  a tap on her shoulder.

“Excuse me,” says the woman in luminescent white. “No physical contact is allowed in the arena.”

Blushing furiously as she realizes how compromising they must look, Deryn thanks whoever’s listening that the place is shrouded in darkness and her burning cheeks are hidden. She scrabbles to her feet, pulling Alek up by the hand.

“My apologies, Fraulein Werner,” says Alek. “It won’t happen again.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. I”ll be escorting you both outside now.”

No amount of protesting and polite pleading will change her mind. Alek stares daggers at her the whole way out.


	9. part ix

“How did you know her name?” is the first thing that leaves Deryn’s mouth as they are thrown out of the laser tag arena. 

Alek brushes his clothes off in an over-exaggerated manner, straightening the wrinkles in his sleeves. “I read her name tag, _dummkopf_.”

Deryn looks at him pointedly. “I don’t speak Austrian, Alek.”

“It’s not Austrian, it’s German. I’m calling you a blockhead.”

Deryn mutters something under her breath.

“What?”

“It’s Gaelic, don’t sweat it.”

“You aren’t half bad at laser tag, you know,” he says, choosing to ignore that comment.

Deryn grins. “I would hope so. I did spend my childhood playing.” Laughing, she jogs ahead, leaving Alek to process this.

Alek remembers how she nodded too quickly in asking for the rules. _Of course she knows how to play._ “You – !”

But Deryn has already left.  

Mr. Volger is waiting outside the car when they reach him. “You are out a little early,” he says.

Alek grimaces; Mr. Volger is his confidant, but he can be a know-it all. “We might have gotten kicked out…for physical contact.”

He can’t look at Deryn right now; the weight of her body on his still rings fresh in his mind, and the strangest part is that he doesn’t know why. It’s a foreign feeling.

“Were you?” says Mr. Volger rhetorically. He opens the door for them. “Please.”

Deryn manages an awkward smile for Mr. Volger’s sake and clambers into the car. Alek tries to follow but he’s held back. 

“May I speak with you for a moment, Aleksandar?” the older man asks and Alek has no choice but to agree. He can feel Deryn’s eyes burning into his back, he’s certain she knows _exactly_ what they’re talking about.

“Do you really think it is wise to continue to spend time with Miss Sharp?” Mr. Volger says tersely as soon as he is sure she is out of earshot. “You didn’t even know she was a _miss_ before yesterday. There is still time to drop her off back at Hauptbahnhof.”

There is some part of him that would like to accept his offer that sounds so very alluring, the part of him that is still hurt by her lies, the part that is still resentful that he didn’t see the truth for _three whole years_ and that she could lie to him without a pause.

But the truth is that the other part of him is rejecting that idea, the part that admires her boldness and still remembers how face lights up when she smiles. 

“No, Mr. Volger, I’d like Miss Sharp to stay.”


	10. part x

Deryn’s hands are tucked into her pocket as she walks alongside the dark-haired boy, who is walking along just as awkwardly.

“Um,” says Alek. “So what do boy-girl friends normally do?” Then, flushing as he realizes what he’s said, he amends, “Like, boys and girls who are friends. Just friends.”

Hearing it makes her stomach drop, but Deryn chastises herself for pouting just because he thinks nothing more of her than a friend. “They talk,” she says. “About things they have in common, I guess.”

Vaguely, she remembers once asking Alek about his real life friends. He had taken a while to answer, and he had only said that he didn’t have any. Deryn had told him that she would always be his friend. 

It makes sense to her, now that she knows who he really is, and her promise still stands; she will always be his friend. Deryn doesn’t know if Alek is hers anymore, though.

They are walking by the little stream that traverses under a bridge, silently. Sparrows squawk from the nests on the trees; the leaves on them are a brilliant green, like the eyes of a certain boy. It’s a beautiful, warm day, the smell of the freshly cut grass mingling with the sugary scent of wild flowers.

Deryn hates it.

Something has to _happen_ , something has to break the spell, something has to stop this barking silence.

And that’s when the dog falls on her head.


	11. part xi

“Barking spiders!” Deryn swears and Alek rushes to help her, eyes wide. 

Where the bloody hell did a _dog_ fall from? Looking up, he can see the scratch marks on the tree branch where the dog had clung. Alek has no idea how he could have gotten up there.

“Blisters, Alek, help me get the bloody dog off, will you?” She groans, with the furry creature splayed out over her back.

It’s a golden retriever, with big innocent eyes and a wagging tongue and a tail to match. Alek spots a collar around its throat, but the letters on the tag have faded somewhat. 

“I can’t read the name,” he says, squinting. “Belongs to someone who starts with a C…and an H…”

“That’s all fine and dandy,” says Deryn, pushing herself to a sitting position, rubbing her head. Alek can’t help but notice the way her hair is tousled messily; he bets its as soft as it looks, and what he would give to find out. “But can we not focus on the fact that it just _fell on my bloody head?_ ”

Alek almost laughs out loud at her scowling expression, and now it’s his turn to hide a smile. “I have no idea where he came from,” he says truthfully. He ruffles the dog behind his ears, and his tails wags happily. “He’s kind of cute, though.”

Snorting, Deryn watches the creature warily. “Cute? It’s a little bum-rag. Actually, it’s not very little.”

“What should we name it?”

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare name the beastie. You’ll get attached.”

“I would have thought _you_ would be the one who got along with him; look, you even have the same hair!” he laughs and Deryn grumbles. “I think I’m going to name him Bovril.”

“Bovril? Isn’t that a kind of tea? That _is_ a bit cruel, Alek. Besides, we can’t keep him.” Alek knows she’s right, but he defends his new friend. 

“I know. It doesn’t mean we can’t take care of him until we find his owners.”

He watches as Deryn eyes the dog distrustfully, sighing in what he has come to recognize as an expression of surrender. 

“Alright,” she says resignedly, scratching his fluffy head. “We can take care of _Bovril_.” Deryn points at the golden-haired dog, straight between his eyes so that he almost goes cross-eyed. “But I’ve got my eye on you, beastie.”


	12. part xii

Deryn is still displeased with Bovril when they arrive back at the hotel that night. After some arguing(and some bribery, though Deryn isn’t supposed to know about that), the manager allows them to take Bovril up the elevator.

When the clock strikes twelve, the two teenagers are in their room and their guardians are in theirs. Deryn tries again not to feel too self-conscious in her t-shirt, but she copes; after all, if Alek doesn’t care, there should be nothing to worry about. Yet, the fact that he _doesn’t_ care gets to her more than feeling embarrassed about her body. God, for once she wishes  that Alek wouldn’t be such a gentleman and _notice_ that he’s sharing a room with a girl who isn’t wearing trousers to bed. But such thoughts leads to others that will likely involve him grabbing her by the face and kissing her firmly, and Deryn banishes these silly fantasies. She’s no moony girl, twirling her hair and giggling flirtatiously.

Still, as she tucks herself into bed, she can’t help sneaking a glance to the bed next to hers. Alek sees her, but instead of teasing her for staring, he smiles.

“Goodnight, Deryn,” says Alek.

“Goodnight, Alek,” says Deryn, and she turns out the light. 

Both are still too tense to go to sleep right away though, so they sit in the quiet, waiting for the other to drift off first. 

“Deryn?” says Alek, sounding almost timid. 

“Yeah?”

“Why did you pretend to be a guy?"

Deryn is silent. Being online is like now, being in the darkness. In the dark, no one can see you, no one can tell the truth from a lie, and everyone is equal because everyone is a stranger and they can’t tell you otherwise. It’s like now, where Deryn is more comfortable answering this question than she would be if Alek had asked her with the lights on. 

“Deryn?” Alek prompts.

“I’ve told you about my brother, yeah?” she says. “All my life, I’ve been Deryn Sharp, Jaspert’s kid sister who tagged along on every adventure and every trek into the marsh. I’ve never really had friends of my own; they were always Jaspert’s first, then mine.” She pauses, and Alek doesn’t push her.

“I’ve tried making friends with the other girls in town,” she adds. “It always ends in disaster, though. Once, I tackled Kelly O’Ryan into the mud, dirtying her new dress, and her mum got in a row with my mum. Turns out, girls don’t _do_ physical contact.”

Deryn imagines him smiling.

“I like pretending to be a guy online. Despite all those barking feminist parades, girls online who play and talk about the stuff I do are still being talked down to. You’re a guy, and the bloody son of the Austrian president, too, so you wouldn’t know, but we’re not treated the same way normally. I mean, look at you. When you thought I was Dylan, we talked about anything and everything; mostly stupid stuff, though. You were never condescending.

“But you’ve treated me nothing like that since you found out I was a girl. You’re so awkward around me, you can hardly look me in the eye. You were Dylan’s best friend.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Is Deryn not good enough for you?”

Alek says nothing, and Deryn feels her chest pang in disappointment, for so long that her eyelids begin to droop. 

Then, so softly she could have missed it: “I’m sorry.”

Deryn’s face could crack, she’s smiling so widely. “Thanks,” she says quietly. “And for the record, I forgive you for not telling me you were practically royalty.”

This time, she can hear the smile in his voice. “Goodnight, Miss Sharp.”


	13. part xiii

Alek tries to be nicer to Deryn the next morning, like letting her use the bathroom first, or allowing her to pass through the door first. He gets the feeling that’s not really what she meant by treating her the same way as he would have treated Dylan. 

“Cut it out, Alek,” she’d said, punching him. “I said treat me like Dylan, not your elderly mother. Hurry up, you daftie.”

So now Alek sits in the backseat of his limo, stuck in traffic and twiddling his thumbs. He has told Mr. Klopp to take them to a fair he saw on the way in, but at the rate this is going, they won’t be there until midday.

“I don’t suppose next time we could take a small car?” Deryn’s staring out the window wistfully at a couple speeding by on a motorbike, weaving through the cars that are stuck. Bovril barks in agreement.

Alek agrees, too; they should have been there already. 

And he’s almost right, they move slowly, arriving at the carnival at half past eleven. 

“I was going to offer you breakfast, but I guess you’re going to have to settle for lunch,” says Alek, leading her to a food cart. “Bratwurst?”

Deryn looks at him. “You’re not buying me lunch,” she says. “Dylan, remember?”

“No, this is just a friend getting lunch for a friend.” Alek asks the man behind the cart for two sausages, and pays. “Miss Sharp,” he says, handing her the bratwurst.”

“Aleksander Ferdinand Fischer,” Deryn teases back. 

He swears he feels her body stiffen as he loops his arm through hers. He doesn’t think anything of it, though. 

“W-Would you hold Dylan like this?” stutters Deryn, and Alek pauses. Hearing her stutter is new.

“No, but you’re not him,” he says. “We’re two friends, and I’m being gentlemanly. Is that so wrong?”


	14. part xiv

_So wrong_ , Deryn thinks, swallowing hard. She wonders if he really doesn’t know what he’s doing to her, or whether he’s just purposely torturing her.

But, really, who else can she blame but herself? It’s not Alek’s fault that she had to go and fall in love with the daft son of the Austrian president.


	15. part xv

The queue has been moving very slowly, but it’s been moving steadily. Alek can feel Deryn’s impatience as she taps her foot rapidly, waiting for the people to move along. Not surprisingly, this is the longest queue at the carnival; though it’s expected from the biggest attraction.

Deryn is about to jump out of her trousers as they board the carriage, rocking as their weight settles. Her excitement mounts as the wheel begins to turn and they leave the ground behind.

The little carriage sways in the wind and Deryn leans her head out of the window, grinning as she watches the people turn to ants. 

“Deryn, perhaps you shouldn’t do that,” tries Alek. “It could be dangerous.”

“Don’t be such a bum-rag,” is her answer. “Come on, try it. It’s fantastic.”

Admittedly, it is, even as reluctant as he is to try it. From this point in the sky, the mountains stretch on for kilometers, with a gentle fog settling over the peaks. The cluster of skyscrapers do almost that, looking like they touch the sky and rising beyond the mist. He hadn’t known that the Frankfurt trees could look so green, contrasting with the rushing color of the river. And Alek can see it all. 

Deryn’s looking at him from the other window, beaming. He understands how she’s feeling, the wind against his face and the earth miles away and feeling suspended in the sky for eternity. It’s liberating.

Opening the window all the way, Deryn sticks her entire front half out of the carriage, arms raised and shouting. The gale blows her hair up and tries to force her eyes closed, but like always, Deryn pushes back. Laughing like a madman, she yells into the open air.


	16. part xvi

_This is what being with Alek is like,_ thinks Deryn, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. _It’s like flying. Flying through the air, getting to the free fall. But with me, I just keep falling, falling,_

_f_

_a_

_l_

_l_

_i_

_n_

_g_

_for him._


	17. part xvii

Speed forward two days. Today is the day of the concert. 

For once, both Alek and Deryn are in sync, jumping around so much that Mr. Volger is popping a few aspirin every so often. _Today is the day, today is the day._

Mr. Klopp has taken Deryn’s advice and sits in front of the hotel in a smaller car when the time comes to leave. It’s inconspicuous and Alek finds it strange; it’s always been flashy cars for him.

“Hello, all,” says the man pleasantly from the front seat. “Is it concert time already?”

“Yes, already.” Mr. Volger massages his temples. “Let this be over with.”

Alek pays him no attention, letting Deryn get in before him and stepping back as Bovril bounds into the backseat eagerly. 

“Bovril!” they say in unison, though Alek’s cry is far from enthusiastic. The dog barks and clambers onto Deryn’s lap, pawing at her clothes. She chuckles as she pushes his head away, tongue lolling.

“Do you really think it is wise to take that _thing_ along?” Mr. Volger says in disgust, voicing Alek’s thoughts. 

Deryn frowns. “Why not?” she says. “Bovril isn’t going to be any trouble, are you, beastie?” This last bit is said in a baby voice. Bovril pants happily. “Please, Alek?”

He looks at her, eyes begging for him to say yes and knows he isn’t going to be able to say otherwise. “I suppose,” concedes Alek, ruffling the dog’s fur. “Mr. Volger?”

Mr. Volger mutters his consent, cursing the mind of his foolish charge who follows his heart rather than his head.


	18. part xviii

The concert doesn’t start for another ten minutes, but the place is packed. It’s an open air concert, and Deryn can smell the smoke rising off the tips of burning cigarettes, from the people taking their last hits before the concert really begins. Mr. Volger and Mr. Klopp have stayed behind in the car, preferring the peace and quiet of the car to the Flying Lorises’ ear-bursting music.

Deryn grabs Alek’s hand and pulls him headlong into the crowd, determined to get as close to the stage as possible. “Come on!” she shouts. “Closer!”

Alek tugs on Bovril’s makeshift leash that he’s fashioned out of one of Mr. Volger’s old ties, who is not going to be too pleased when he finds out. 

Pushing through the crowd is a struggle; Alek is of average height, and Deryn is taller still, but it hardly makes a difference compared to some of the others in this mass. Deryn excuses herself more times than she can count. They’ve barely made any headway when the stage lights beam on one by one and roll around the quickly darkening sky. They all cheer.

“Keep moving!” Deryn has to cup her hands around her mouth and speak into Alek’s ear to be heard. “Just far enough to see Conan!”

As if on cue, the lead singer’s voice booms through the open stadium. “Are you ready?” he yells into the mic, and screams affirm yes. “Are you _really ready?_ ” Deryn can just barely see the band over the sea of bobbing heads as the guitarist lets loose a string of notes, prompting even more yelling. This is her favorite song! She’s more determined to get up front.

Bovril weaves through people’s legs, jumping to avoid getting stepped on. Alek does the same, still being lead by his hand. Deryn squeezes between a tall man with dreadlocks and a black woman when Alek’s hand goes suddenly slack and she turns back just in time to see the woman’s backpack strike him in the head, and he crumples like a ragdoll. She doesn’t hear it, but Bovril yelps and leaps back. The woman doesn’t even notice.

“Alek!” Deryn crouches to the ground, in the small circle of pavement that the people have given them. It’s not any sort of help; _for god’s sake, there’s an unconscious boy here_ ; but it’s as much kindness as she will be getting from them. “Alek!”


	19. part xix

Vaguely he is aware that the ground is cold, that the sounds around him are loud, and that his friend is leaning over him. Mostly, though, he is aware that his head is throbbing enormously. Alek tries to sit up, putting a hand to his head but it falls back to the pavement.

The face above him is blurry, but he can make out sharp features and a mop of blonde hair. Next to it, another blonde-headed person.

No, not person. That’s a dog, isn’t it? Yes, it must be. No one has hair all over their entire head. 

What is its name again? Some sort of _food_ ; no, drink.

“Hello, Meat-Tea,” Alek slurs. “Dylan is right, that is a cruel name. Sorry, Meat-Tea.”

“What?” The blonde head(the human one) swims in his vision. “Alek, are you alright?” 

Alek can barely hear him. He’s too busy looking at the strobe lights around the stadium. Whoa. Where is he? Loud noise, kind of catchy. Must be music. Some concert, maybe. Whose? His eyes cross again and he struggles to focus them. 

“Alek!” Somebody’s calling him and he concentrates on his friend, who’s shaking his shoulders roughly. “You’re loopy. Focus! You know who I am, right?” 

Yes, he believes he does. “’Course,” he tries to yell, but his voice is hoarse and it cracks. “Mr. Dylan Sharp, that’s who you are.” Alek does a fake salute and chuckles crazily. 

The boy’s eyes widen and he looks at Alek like he’s a foreign creature. “You’ve hit your head, you daftie!” he shouts. “Dylan doesn’t exist!” He raises his head, looking around like he’s searching around for help. No one pays them any attention, though, all eyes are glued to the band. They must be really good.

“Yes, you do.” Alek’s words are garbled up. “That’s you, _dummkopf_.” He smiles goofily and pokes his face, but Dylan grabs his hand and forces him to meet his eyes. 

“ _Alek._ ” His friend’s tone is forcedly desperate. “Look at me. _Really_ look at me!”

He does, and as his sight returns with lucidity, the happy buzz fades, giving away to frightful clarity. Dylan is gone, replaced by Deryn Sharp. That’s all there really ever was. “Yes,” he says, soft enough that Deryn has to read his lips to understand. His head, swimming, rests on the pavement. “I see it now.”

Deryn’s breath lets out, relieved. “Good.”

“Don’t lie to me again,” says Alek suddenly, and loudly. 

“What?”

“You heard me! You can’t ever lie to me again. Promise me. Deryn.” His breathing is irregular, waiting for her response. He can’t see her face, so his eyes close; he doesn’t want to know what he’ll see if he does. 

“You know what this means, right?” she says, her voice is closer to his ear that he thought. “No secrets?”

“No secrets.”

After a pause, she speaks again. “Aye. I promise.”

Alek closes his eyes and relaxes, assured by the promise of an honest friendship. Then he feels the unmistakable softness of lips pressing onto his mouth, trembling fervently with nervousness and feverishness and something else he can’t think about because _Deryn Sharp is kissing him right now and by the gods it feels good_. Hands on his face, rough skin against smooth skin. 

Deryn pulls back and looks away, and he could try to pass the redness of her cheeks off as a result of the crowd around them but that’s not it, and they both know it. He has to remind himself where he is and what’s going on and _what his name is_. He sits up abruptly. 

“Well,” Alek says, and Bovril barks. 

“Well,” Deryn says, rubbing his golden fur awkwardly.

Out of the three of them, it’s hard to believe the dog is the only one in his right mind.


	20. part xx

Deryn still can’t believe she did that. Even hours after, she can still feel his lips on hers, the blood roaring in her ears. She’s done insane, dangerous things, like jumping off bridges to smack the water below and climbing impossibly steep rock walls, but this one thing, so small and seemingly unimportant, is the craziest thing she’s ever done.

The concert had been amazing, but her head had been so fuzzy and muddled she wouldn’t have noticed if they sounded terrible. Despite the fact that it means nothing to Alek, she’s still on cloud nine. 

Now they’re backstage with passes to meet the band, thanks to Alek’s _connections_. Even Bovril looks animated. Practically royalty have their perks. 

Catching a glimpse of Conan, Deryn grips Alek’s arm, hard, and points. “It’s _him!_ ”

Alek pushes her arm down. “It is,” he says. “But it’s still rude to point.”

When Conan comes around to greet them, Deryn is bursting with excitement. Up close, he looks much more friendly. She can see the crinkles around his eyes from laughing, as he holds out a hand for them to shake, and he says the eagerly awaited:

“That’s my dog.”

Deryn blinks. _Wait, what?_  

Alek looks just as confused as she does. “Sorry?” he says. “Bovril is your dog?”

Conan elbows the guitarist in the ribs, grinning. “Hey, d’you hear that, Grant?” he says. “They named him Bovril. I _like_ it.”

Grant nods. “Me, too.”

She is so confused right now, her thoughts are muddled enough as they are. Looking down at Bovril, who is nuzzling his head against the singer’s leg, she permits herself to believe that he is _Conan Hobbes’_ dog. Deryn suddenly remembers the tag with the worn out lettering. “C.H. stands for Conan Hobbes,” she says, comprehension dawning.

“Why did you say we _named_ him?” asks Alek. “If he was yours, wouldn’t he have a name?”

“He’s the band’s new addition,” says the drummer, Angus. “Dr. B just got ‘im.”

“Dr. B?” Deryn and Alek say together. 

A woman steps around the band and gives them a formal smile. She is dressed impeccably, in a grey suit that looks completely out of place at a Flying Lorises concert. “That would be me,” says the woman, coolly. “Though, it would be Dr. Barlow to you.” Squatting, she smooths back Bovril’s fur, petting him gently. 

“Bovril,” Dr. Barlow murmurs, still stroking him. “That will do just fine.”

“She’s our manager,” explains Grant. “Hey, thanks for finding him.”

Deryn tells him it’s no big deal, but she knows that now they have found Bovril’s real owners, it means they’ll be taking him back and she’ll never see him again. And she is going to miss him, no matter what she said when they first met.

“I like you two,” says Conan, scribbling something down on a sheet of paper. “I don’t usually give fans our email, but you did find Bovril.” He stuffs it in Deryn’s hand. “Here. You keep in touch, alright?”

She looks at him, eyes wide. “Are you barking serious?” she exclaims, turning to Alek, who looks just as amazed. “Definitely!”

Bovril nudges at her foot, and Deryn bends down. “You’ll be happy with them, beastie,” she says quietly. “You’re the newest flying loris.”

“There’s something about ‘Bovril the loris’ that has a certain ring to it.” Alek is right next to her, crouched. She didn’t even hear him beside her. “He’s a smart one.”

“One might even say he was perspicacious,” says the doctor in her crisp, clipped tone, but Deryn doesn’t dare ask what the word means. Each giving Bovril one last goodbye hug, Alek and Deryn stand, with heavy hearts, and say their farewells to the band, and their dog.

Bovril, the perspicacious loris.


	21. part xxi

Alek knows he should have predicted trouble when Deryn’s brother showed up two days earlier than expected. Jaspert Sharp has arrived by train, leaving Alek in a somewhat awkward position as Deryn greets him enthusiastically, tackling him in a bear hug. He looks to Mr. Volger for aid but receives nothing but an amused smile and a shooing motion.

Brother and sister are talking animatedly, possibly in a lengthy discussion about the events of the past few months of their lives, but that’s not true. Alek’s not kidding anyone; he’s the topic of discussion, judging by the way Jaspert keeps glancing at him every few seconds. Finally, Deryn drags him over.

“This is my brother, Jaspert,” she says, and Mr. Volger and Mr. Klopp greet him. Alek manages a ‘hello’.

“Nice to meet you all,” says Jaspert. “I know I wasn’t supposed to get here for another couple days, but I figured I’d stop in early, maybe check in on Deryn. I’ve got a few friends here to visit, too.”

Alek’ll bet anything that Deryn isn’t the only one he’s come to check in on. 

Like he’s just remembered, Jaspert gives Alek a look, pointing at him like he’s just realized he was there. “You’re Alek, right?” he asks, and Alek nods. “Could I talk to you for a second?”

Both he and Deryn begin to protest, Deryn more insistently than him. He doesn’t really know how to  react as Jaspert takes his arms and guides him off to the side. 

“Blisters, Jaspert, get a grip, will you?” Deryn says. “You’re going to scare him.”

Jaspert ignores his sister and goes straight to the point. “I don’t know if you know, but Deryn’s mad about you. I don’t know why, but she is,” he says. Alek starts a little; _mad_ about him? She can’t really like him that much.

“And I really hope she’s already told you because she’ll kill me if you didn’t know.” Jaspert shakes his head. “You did know, right?”

Oh, yes, Alek knows. He remembers _how_ she told him in perfect clarity; in fact, he’s almost never stopped thinking about it since. “Yes, sir.”

He grins, and Alek suddenly sees the striking resemblance between the two siblings. “Sir. I like the sound of that,” he says thoughtfully. “Also, I’ve heard you are sharing a bedroom, and I swear to God, if you – ”

“Nothing will happen, I promise,” assures Alek hastily. 

“Good.” Deryn’s brother relaxes, and just when he looks like he’s about to let him go, he opens his mouth again, his voice lowering. “On that note, I hope you’re treating her well. Even if you don’t…feel the same way, you treat her right, you hear?”

Alek does hear, he understands completely.

“Deryn’s a special girl, alright?” Jaspert’s tone takes on a tender, brotherly feel. “But if you hurt her in anyway, I might just forget that you’re the president’s kid. Got it?”

“Don’t worry,” says Alek. “I know, and I’m lucky to have Deryn in my life.”

“Glad to hear it.” 

That’s it, really, until Alek realizes: _he hasn’t stopped thinking about it – about her._ Then it’s like a slap in the face, and because it’s the way he was always taught, something must be done.


	22. part xxii

Alek isn’t normally a fan of outdoorsy activities, being kept inside as the president’s son, so you can imagine Deryn’s surprise when he decides to take them to a park for their last day in Frankfurt. Mr. Klopp drops them off at the park’s entrance and speeds away with Mr. Volger in the front seat. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he’d warned them both. “Don’t be brash.”

“That doesn’t leave us much to do,” remarks Deryn, after the dust that squeals beneath the tires has settled.

The square is not unlike the one they passed through the day Bovril fell out of a tree, and the memory makes Deryn wish that he was here beside her. She’s finding she misses the beastie’s presence.

Today it is not too crowded, and there are a few children playing in the fountain in the center of the park. There are sidewalks made of concrete which weave in between patches of grass, forming a circle around the artificial spring. It’s hot enough to make Deryn want to join the kids in their bathing suits.

Instead, she settles for taking her jacket off, and on second thought, she pulls off her sweater, too. It leaves her in a tank top, which she’s hesitating to call skimpy. Still, the breeze feels fantastic on her skin and she tucks her outer layers under her arm.

Alek turns around and starts, and Deryn is suddenly self-conscious. She looks down at herself. _Well, it’s not too bad_. She hasn’t got much in the _upper regions_ , but it’s enough to make her want to cover up. Her arms cross over her chest.

“What?” she says.

Alek realizes that staring makes her uncomfortable, and looks down with a cough. “It’s nothing, really,” he says. “It’s only that I’ve never seen you out of that thing.” He gestures at the army green jacket.

She shifts awkwardly, rubbing her arm. “It was my dad’s,” Deryn says. “I wear it everywhere.”

Deryn’s glad that she’s already told him about her father’s death online; online, where she can cry behind the screen and not see his face staring back with condolance. She doesn’t think she could handle it if he pitied her. 

Alek nods, understanding, and lets the matter drop. Rather than risk the suffocating silence, he finds them a spot beneath a sturdy tree with thick leaves that block out the scorching sun. 

“Come on.” He pats the ground beside him and swings his bag off his shoulder. Curious, Deryn sits, watching as Alek pulls out a bundle of cloth and lays it out on the ground. 

Next, he pulls out two loaves of french baguettes, and two plastic containers. Upon closer inspection, Deryn sees that one’s filled with lettuce and slices of tomato, and the other’s filled with some sort of meat. Finally, he puts two green apples amidst it all. 

“What exactly are you doing?” asks Deryn somewhat cautiously.

“Am I doing it wrong?” Alek frowns at his set-up, as if there is something out of place. Reaching forward, he straightens a corner of the cloth and smooths down the wrinkles in the fabric.

“Doing _what_ wrong?”

“Having a picnic!” he responds just as exasperatedly. “Is there a certain way it has to be done, or have I gotten it right?”

Deryn’s smiling all at once, smiling at her friend’s cluelessness and at his graceless determination. “This is supposed to be a picnic?” Her smile gives way, and she roars with laughter, gasping for breath. 

Alek’s cheeks redden as he watches her howl, unamused.


	23. part xxiii

Well, now he feels like a complete fool. Asking if he’s _done the picnic correctly_. Still, it’s almost worth it to hear her laugh, and if it comes at Alek’s expense, he might let it slide just this once…


	24. part xxiv

“You’ve really never had a picnic before?”

They have made their sandwiches and are eating them leisurely under the tree, laying on their backs, no less. 

“Well, no,” says Alek. “Why eat on the ground if I can get people to set up a table for me?”

“But isn’t this more fun?” Deryn gives him a mock punch. 

“I guess it is.”

As she finishes her sandwich, licking the flour off her fingertips, Deryn rolls over onto her stomach and props herself up on one arm. She’s still curious as to why Alek would do something so obviously outside his element. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your first picnic?”

He doesn’t move from his spot, chewing his lunch. “Thought I’d try something new, that’s all,” he says after a mouthful.

“Oh, come off of it.”

“I just thought as our last day, we could spend it as a…well, you know.” Alek’s finished his sandwich and he reaches for an apple, crunching into it with a face tinged with pink.

“A what?” Deryn looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain, when –  _oh_. She sits up abruptly, taken aback. “Is this supposed to be a _date?_ ”

“Well, you don’t have to say it like that,” Alek says, embarrassed. 

Deryn’s feeling a mixture of things right now; part of her wants to scream with euphoria because _does this mean he likes her_ yet the other part of her is extremely suspicious. All she’s ever wanted from him was to return her feelings, but now that it’s happening, she’s skeptical. Alek has never shown any interest in her before.

Her eyes narrow and she jabs a finger in his chest, and he scoots back. “What’s Jaspert put you up to now?”

“Your brother?”

“Aye, my barking brother!” Deryn spares a furious thought for her older brother. She knows he’s always just wanted the best for her, but how dare he interfere in her personal life? Meddling was always his specialty. 

“He’s made you pretend to like me, hasn’t he? He knows how I feel about you and he’s going to _make_ you go on this sodding date to make me happy! You can go and get stuffed, the both of you! I can’t believe – mphf!”

Deryn can blame that last bit on being pleasantly surprised by Alek’s hands on her face, pulling her close and his lips doing this fantastic, magical thing and all her anger melts away and she allows herself to just get caught up in all of it. This time, the kiss is worlds better because they both know what they are doing, and maybe Deryn’s biased, but he tastes sweeter than before so she pulls him closer, like she’ll never get enough. And Lord knows that’s true. His lips taste like the apple he’s just eaten, and that is not a bad way for a boy to be. She can feel Alek’s hands creeping into her short cropped hair, and she winds hers unconsciously around his neck.

Now it’s Alek who breaks off first, and Deryn keeps her eyes closed, grinning madly. The rush comes in a burst of giddiness, and she can’t even remember what they were doing five minutes before. She’d been angry about something, no?

“Jaspert didn’t make me do anything,” says Alek. “And is the picnic really that rubbish? I worked hard on it, you know.” He looks at the blanket nervously.

“No, the picnic is fine.” Deryn hides a blushing laugh, then sighs, patting her cheeks. “Blisters, look what you’ve done to me; I look like a blushing schoolgirl!”

Alek touches her face gently. “Red’s a good color on you.”

She swats his hand away, still flushed. “But Jaspert really didn’t have anything to do with all this?”

“I swear,” Alek promises, with a sly smile. “Unless you need more convincing…?”

With a ditzy squeal, Deryn tackles him back onto the blanket and they leave the real world behind.


	25. part xxv

It’s departure day, and no one is looking forward to it. Mr. Klopp will miss driving around in a small vehicle; Mr. Volger will miss not having any other duties than looking after his young charge, and this means that Jaspert’s travels are over. And for Deryn and Alek, well, that’s quite obvious, isn’t it?

Alek has come to see Deryn and her brother off at the train station and they leave in ten minutes, having just made it with time to spare for goodbyes. 

Deryn catches him in a crushing hug, and he returns the embrace, all the while keeping a wary eye on Jaspert. No matter how hard he’s fallen in these last twenty four hours, he’s not about to cross any lines with her older brother watching. 

“When can I see you again?” she says, leaning back, but not completely.

“I hear there’ll be a Flying Lorises concert in Switzerland in a few months?” Alek tries for a smile, but he wishes he could stop the clock. Going back to his other life, the one where Deryn is still Dylan and he is just the president’s son, is completely unappealing now. “Assuming you’ll go with me.”

“Of course I’m going, you daftie,” she says. “Wouldn’t want to miss a Flying Lorises concert, would I? Oh, and there’s you, too, I suppose,” she adds teasingly.

“No goodbyes, then,” Alek says, and steps back, hearing Jaspert cough softly, motioning at the coming train, screeching into the station. “Your train leaves about now, Miss Sharp?”

“Oi, lose the formalities.” And lose them, she does, giving him one last, hard kiss on the mouth so that Alek can still feel her lingering on his lips after she’s let go. She moves back, putting some distance between them and grabbing her suitcase in one hand.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Aleksander Ferdinand Fischer,” she says, saluting him.

He returns the gesture. 

“Until we meet again, Deryn Sharp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3


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